


short fuse and half-truths

by hippopotamus



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, footballer!isak, fucking again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippopotamus/pseuds/hippopotamus
Summary: in which isak has a reputation for starting fights but even is working on a theory that isak doesn't actually want to punch him like he says he does
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 77
Kudos: 480





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...this was peer pressure  
> title [adapted from] 5sos's babylon, no one @ me about this  
> the football in this is the not american football, u know the football that people actually play With Their Feet and actually deserves the name of football. soccer if u will. i have never played it. but i have played table football so obviously i know enough to write about it  
> also this whole thing is not well thought out, apologies in advance for any inconsistencies and things that seem like they should be deep. i promise u there is nothing deep about this fic it's just me wanting to write about angry gay fuckers at boarding school and is entirely a guilty pleasure  
> THAT SAID big thank u to isi for reading it overrrrrrr  
> enjoy!!!

When Even switches schools to redo his final year, one of the first things he learns is that Isak Valtersen has a reputation. 

Quite a mixed reputation, too. He's sweet as honey when he wants to be, to all the girls that chase after him. and the friends who hang around him. His smile is charming, compelling - he could persuade people to jump off cliffs for him if he so wished. 

But, on the other side of that, he's quick tempered and destructive. A striker for the school football team, and a sore loser - you can bet that if the team loses a game, something will be punched afterwards. 

Usually a member of the other team. 

*

They meet in what may as well be detention. 

It’s three weeks into the year, and Even is still the new kid. No one knows a single fact about him, unlike everything he already knows about Isak. He’s relieved - plans for it to stay that way for as long as possible.

But he’s repeating the year, so if he finds it completely fucking pointless that his attendance is required in classes for modules he’s already fucking completed, then he doesn’t attend the class. And then his teachers have the nerve to tell him he has to go to evening catch up, or he gets a strike.

So - glorified detention. 

And there’s no question why Isak’s here. The black eye, the bruised knuckles, the cut on his lip. The fact that there were rumours of a fight on tuesday, and there’s always a ninety per cent chance that one of the involved parties will be Isak. Even knows this despite the fact he hasn’t even been here a month yet. 

He also knows that, irritatingly, Isak is so fucking attractive, even with - or maybe, more irritating still, _because of_ his injuries. 

Even’s a pacifist, okay, in every situation except himself - he’ll tear himself to shreds until the moment he dies but he doesn’t want any actual fighting where other people are involved. (People - therapists, doctors, his parents - have all tried to tell him about the flawed logic behind this - if he doesn’t want war, why does he rage it on himself, but it’s not like he’s going to listen to them, when they’re the ones forcing him back to fucking school.)

But fuck, if this bad boy vibe Isak his going isn’t causing some primal reaction in Even.

Back on the first day, when Even wanted to disappear into the ground that everyone was walking on to get inside the school’s doors, he’d noticed Isak. Far away, at the end of the drive, saying a miserable goodbye to a man in a suit, who looked like he wanted nothing less than to even be there. Even felt like he had seen Isak, really seen him, but that was before he’d heard all of the rumours - and now he doesn’t know what to think.

He saw a very different person, back then. And he’s - he used to think he was good at reading people, but he hasn’t been sure of that for a while. So maybe Isak is just this entitled, cocky asshole who punches just to feel something, and charms his way around all the girls in the school - it’s not like Even would be able to tell if that’s the real him.

He might as well believe it is.

Isak is sitting, diagonally in front of Even, sideways in his chair facing the centre of the room, though there’s no one there that he needs to impress. He’s obviously not trying to, anyway, there’s a scowl fixed on his features, replacing the self assured smirk that’s usually there. He’s pointedly not doing the work that’s on the desk in front of him - for that matter, neither is Even, though he’s been threatened with more glorified detentions if he doesn’t hand something in at the end, and Isak probably has, too.

At least Even is making it look like he’s doing something, though. He’s been practicing caricatures recently, and the teacher at the front of the room with big glasses and even bigger ears makes a pretty good subject. 

He pretends not to notice when Isak’s eyes drift over to what Even is drawing, and he lets out a quiet snort. Even doesn’t acknowledge it, just keeps drawing, fighting the smile from his face as he finishes the teacher and turns his pen on Isak, glancing up every so often both for a reference and to smirk at Isak’s reaction when he notices that the over sized curls and shading around the left eye are appearing because this is a drawing of him.

“What the fuck, dude?” Isak hisses. “I don’t look like that.”

“Then how do you know it’s you?” Even replies without looking up, biting his tongue immediately to stop himself from laughing.

Isak mutters “fuck you,” and turns to face the front of the room while the teacher looks up and requests quiet in a bored voice.

Seconds later, Isak twists in his chair again, seemingly unable to stop himself glancing back at what Even is doodling - though, Even will admit that now that he’s lost his reference with Isak facing away, it’s not as easy to draw him. Though he’s pretty sure, actually, that Isak’s face is already etched into his mind. Unwillingly, but undoubtedly. 

He’s just hot, is all. Even appreciates hot people, regardless of personality.

He finishes the drawing by adding boxing gloves, holding his breath as Isak’s mouth drops open, because Even’s just realised that actually, this is the guy who punches people who piss him off.

Oh well. Too late to do anything about that now.

Somehow he doesn’t get punched, anyway - maybe because there’s a teacher there, though it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would stop Isak at any other time. Isak simply scowls deeper, and spins back round in his chair, muttering another _fuck you._

Even huffs a laugh, and mutters words of his own, low enough that the teacher won’t hear. “If you didn’t want the reputation, you shouldn’t have started punching people.”

He watches Isak’s curl his bruised hand into a fist in front of him, but gets no more reaction than that. 

But hey, what can Isak do to him? He probably doesn’t even know his name - let alone where he goes when he isn’t in class.

And they're not in the same year, so they're not on the same floor of the boarding house - basically, Isak can't do shit. And Even's taller than him, so. 

He continues to sketch, life-like this time, little details from around the room - a box of pens on the teachers desk, a display of paper sculptures from art class, Isak's foot, toes on the floor and his heel leaning against his chair leg. His hand holding his pen, tapping it against the table. His left eye, purple and swollen. His lips - his fucking lips. 

This time, when Isak starts to turn, Even flips the page, and starts to scrawl the answers to the textbook questions, pretending not to notice Isak watching him. He lasts all of a minute ignoring him. 

“You don’t get shit for not doing any work?”

Isak replies, full of snarky confidence. “Like they’d fucking try.”

“What, you gonna punch a teacher?”

Isak shrugs one shoulder, as if he’d genuinely consider it. “You’d think, out of all the shit people say about me, the fact that my dad owns half the school would be the first.”

Even tries to slow his reaction, the widening of his eyes and raise of his eyebrow, down to unimpressed. “And they still put you in detention? He can’t be that important.”

Isak’s eyes narrow to threatening, but it’s not enough to scare Even yet. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Because I’ve only been here three weeks? Trust me, Valtersen, you being in detention is all I need to know.”

“You two, quiet,” the teacher snaps from the front of the room, and Isak turns back in his seat, letting out an angry breath. 

Even’s pretty sure that means he’s won.

*

Like he expected, Isak doesn’t find him around school - whether that’s because he isn’t looking, or because Even skulks round the back of the storerooms with a joint between his fingers more often than not, he doesn’t know. 

But even when they do pass each other in the corridor, Isak doesn’t acknowledge him, save for a glance up, a narrowing of his eyes, then his gaze returns to the floor, or to whatever friend or acquaintance is trying to catch his attention this time. 

Even stops imagining that he’ll get jumped at any moment roughly 8 days after the detention, when he walks past Isak, sitting out in the corridor one evening - for once not surrounded by the non-stop stream of people around him. When Isak catches his eye, then, Even wonders if this is the moment Isak gets revenge, punches him with no witnesses, but - nothing. 

He’s reminded of who he saw on the first day. The kid so desperate for approval, so scared to be himself.

The moment ends as quickly as it started. Isak spits out a rough “what are you looking at?” in a voice that betrays him by cracking, and Even shrugs, and walks away, down to the back of the storeroom, to stay until his roommate is safely asleep so that he doesn’t have to interact with him.

He’s there for an hour, alternating between scribbling in his sketchbook (Isak appears, again, and again, and again) and smoking more than he knows he should. When the moon is high in the sky, three quarters full and bright enough to hurt Even’s eyes, he calls it a night, and makes his way back the same way that he came, wandering the deep red carpeted halls of the boarding house to further delay having to attempt sleep that he knows won’t come.

Isak hasn’t moved from where Even passed him earlier, slumped against the wall outside what must be his room. He hadn’t noticed before that there’s a pillow against his knees, his fist pressed into it as if he’s been using it as a punching bag. His phone is beside him on the floor, and when he glances up at Even - he’s - 

His eyes, healed from the bruises, are now reddened around the edges. 

Even knows that if he acknowledges it, he’ll have to go right back to assuming he’ll get jumped at every turn in this school, but in a split second decision, he stops, and slides down the wall next to Isak, sitting beside him silently.

“What are you doing?” the confusion in his tone is evident, along with his expression when he turns to Even - and half of the confusion is actually closer to fear.

Even shrugs. “Looked comfy down here.”

“It’s the floor.”

“Carpet’s pretty nice, though. Say thanks to your dad from me,” he smirks at Isak, and doesn’t let it fade when he sees Isak’s narrowed eyes. “What, he didn’t choose it?”

“He doesn’t deserve thanks for fucking anything,” Isak mutters.

That’s the boy Even saw on the first day of school. “No?” he asks, softening his voice. 

The only reply he gets is Isak stoically looking away from him, and a barely there shrug of his shoulders.

Even may not know, and only barely like Isak, but still, his next words are as kind as he’s capable of. “Anything I can do? I can lend an ear? A shoulder? An extra fist?”

Isak cracks a tiny smile at that. “Sure, but you’ll get the reputation.”

Even hums, as if considering it. “Tell you what, I’ll just hold your dad in place, and you can do all the punching you want, sound good?”

“Sounds fucking perfect,” Isak says, but the smile disappears, and Even already wants it back. He searches desperately for something to lighten Isak up again. 

“You’d have to tell me why he deserves it, though. The punishment should fit the crime.”

Isak shrugs, like he's locked Even out of his mind, after showing him the tiniest glimpse inside. "He's just a dick." 

Still, Even tries. "Hm, sounds like we should go for psychological torture, then," he says. "You know, make him doubt his own sanity. Move every thing in his house five inches to the left. Replace all his door handles. Change his clocks. That sort of thing." 

Isak let's out a quiet snort. "That's actually kind of fitting." 

"Violence isn't always the answer, young padawan. You have much to learn." 

"Don't fucking quote star wars at me."

"Why, you'll punch me?" 

"I fucking might." 

Even smirks. Isak is nowhere near punching him, he's calm, relaxed, still leaning on the wall and breathing deep and slow. He's not been less angry since Even has met him. 

"If you punch me, I win." 

"You win what?" 

"I just win." 

Isak laughs like he can't help it, like he doesn't believe that Even could make him laugh. It's not uproarious laughter - barely even there, just a single huff of amusement, but it's still laughter, when before there was stony silence and a scowl that looked like it runs deep into Isak's bones. 

He's younger when he laughs. The way his mouth curls up at the corners, and Even sees a hint of dimples, too, ones that aren't so obvious when he does the charming, lopsided smile that must be fake. 

He quickly makes it his mission to see Isak smile properly. It might be a long game to play, but he'll play it anyway. Might as well have something to focus on while he's stuck here. 

Sure, it was _technically_ his choice to come back. No one can force him when he doesn't want to be here - except that they can, and they are, threatening him with the family reputation and shit like that, turfing him out on his own to provide for himself if he doesn't follow the life plan they've set out for him. 

He already fucked it up last year with all his shit, and it won't fly again. 

So maybe Isak's in a similar position. Maybe that's why he punches people. 

"Why are you still out here?" Isak asks eventually. "Did you want something, or?" 

Even shrugs. "Not particularly. Do I need a reason?" 

"No, I guess - not - but - it's just kinda weird, dude. We aren't friends." 

"No, we aren't," agrees Even. "That'd be even weirder, since you probably don't even know my name." 

"We wouldn't be friends even if I did." 

"Ouch, really?" 

"If someone got beat up in front of you you'd run a mile." 

Even tilts his head in acknowledgement. "That your only requirement for friends? Stomach for violence? Because yeah, we could never be friends." 

"Yeah. So why are you still here?" 

Even snorts. "So fucking polite."

"Dude."

"I'm waiting for you to ask my name." 

"I already know the answer, which is that I don't care." 

"You know all those rumours about you say you're charming?" 

"Wow, and you've finally discovered that they’re bullshit? Congratulations." 

"So all the rumours about you starting fights, also untrue?" 

"If they say unprovoked, then yeah."

"Mhm, and what counts as provoking?" 

Isak doesn't answer. 

"Being better than you at football? Drawing cartoons of you?" Even continues, smirking. "Talking about your dad?" 

"You can shut up whenever you want," Isak threatens, but there's no force behind his words, no indication that he's actually going to try anything. 

Even is becoming more and more convinced that he won't. 

"What if I don't want?" 

Isak lets out an angry huff. "Are you just here to piss me off?" 

"Ding ding ding," Even cheers. "Finally got there." 

"Fucking hell." 

"You'll learn to love me," Even says. "Just you wait, we'll be friends."

"If we were the last two people on earth, we still wouldn’t be friends." 

"If we were the last two people on earth I feel like I'd become a punching bag." 

"Ding ding ding," Isak snarks, slower and more deliberate than Even had said it to make it clear that he's imitating him. 

"A punching bag and a friend, though," Even says, and Isak scoffs. 

"Why are you so obsessed with this? With me?" 

Even gives a mischievous grin. "Because it pisses you off." 

"But you said yourself, you know what happens when people piss me off."

"I do." 

"So why are you doing this?" He's getting frustrated now, but it's not angry frustration, it's just sheer confusion. 

It's kind of addictive to get Isak riled up like this, when, all of the times he sees him around school he's so collected, as if he's above everything. Even wonders if his composure doesn't even crack when he's swinging at whoever is in his way. Or, if it does, does he only switch straight from charm to anger? Does he show any other side to anyone else? 

Even can't imagine his reputation would last long if he showed his confusion. But Isak clearly doesn't care about his reputation for Even. He's not worth the trouble, but really - that makes him more - something - than the ones Isak needs to impress. 

Even looks away, and laughs to himself. "Honestly, people often tell me I'm just waiting to get punched, so." 

"They're probably right," Isak agrees, and tired seeps into his voice, now, his head tilting back against the wall, his fist in the pillow going slack, opening his hand a little. 

"Yeah, probably." 

Only a second passes before Isak stands decisively. "I'm going to fucking bed." 

Even stays seated, looking up at him. "Well then, good fucking night, Isak." 

Isak looks away, sticking his bottom jaw out, maybe in irritation, or maybe to stop himself from smiling. He sighs. "Night," and pushes open the door to the right, stepping through into darkness as it closes behind him. 

Even goes back to his own room half an hour later, only after he's sketched out what he imagines Isak would look like if he smiled - properly smiled. 

Like pygmalion, he falls in love with his own creation. 

*

He passes Isak in the corridor the next day, and gives him a mock salute. Isak scowls at him, and when the guy next to him (eyebrows guy, as Even knows him in his head - he's almost always with Isak, but always seems just a little less furious with the world) asks _who's that,_ Even turns his head to watch Isak shrug without speaking. 

One point to Even. Rendering Isak speechless. He's got this game in the bag. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s Even‘s fourth detention in as many weeks - all for the same crime of skipping classes that he doesn’t even need - and for the second time, Isak is there, making it too easy to sit down diagonally behind him again. Even grins when Isak turns to scowl at him. 

"Hey," says Even, casual like he didn't know exactly what he was doing. "So what are you in for? I didn't hear about any more fights." 

"Doesn't mean they didn't happen." 

"Yeah it does," Even replies easily. "Come on, tell me." 

Isak rolls his eyes, surprisingly quick to give out the truth. "Stayed out past curfew. For once a teacher thought to come and check." 

"Dull," Even says. "Thought it'd at least be arson." 

Isak snorts, taken by surprise. "No," he says, forcing himself to scowl again. "Good idea for next time, though." 

He stops there, like Even knew he would. 

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm here?" 

"Nope." 

Even pulls the most exaggerated sad face he can, but to no effect. Isak just shrugs. 

"Chris says you never show up to class anyway. It's not difficult to work out why you're here."

Even gasps dramatically. "So you do care?" 

_ "No."  _

"You do, it's okay, I won't tell." 

"I fucking-" 

"Quiet at the back, please," the teacher interrupts, and Isak rolls his eyes and turns back to the front of the room. 

Even lasts about two minutes staring at the papers he fishes out from his bag, before he picks up his pen, and leans forward to poke Isak’s shoulder. He revels in the little flinch Isak does, before he turns slowly, as if he hadn’t reacted at all.

“What now?” he asks.

“I wanna know how you know my roommate,” Even grins. 

“Chris? He’s on the football team.”

Even knew that, actually. He hums. “And whether you know him well enough to tell him that he’s a fucking slob and I hate living with him.”

“Sure, I’ll tell him.”

“Mm, you really wanna see me get punched, and yet you never want to do the punching. Why is that?”

Isak falters for a second, a microexpression of worry appearing on his face, but he switches it quickly, gets his calm back. “Lot of effort to punch someone I couldn’t care less about.”

Even nods, smirking, letting Isak know he sees through him. He gets no response but a huff, and Isak turning away from him, but he knows how to get his attention back now.

He leaves it another five minutes, alternating between (doodling on) his school work and drawing (Isak) in his sketchbook, then leans forward, and sticks his pen into Isak’s shoulder again. He’s rewarded with another flinch, another slow turn, eyebrows raised as if Isak is unimpressed and unbothered, but Even knows better.

“Do that again and -”

“You’ll punch me? Fucking finally.”

“Jesus  _ Christ. _ You aren’t meant to want to get punched, dude.”

“Then why do people hang out with you?”

“Because they aren’t as annoying as you and don’t have to worry about that.”

"They're not as fun as me," Even corrects, still grinning. "Someone has to keep you humble." 

"And you'll manage that by being obsessed with me?" 

"I'll manage it by pissing you off." 

Isak narrows his eyes, starting to turn back. "Your roommate has punched just as many people as I have. You don't win if he punches you." 

"Oh, but I do," Even smirks at the back of Isak's head. "I'll know it was you who sent him." 

*

Three days later, Even's wandering the corridors at night again, and for the first time since that night he sat with Isak, he chances a glance through the window of the door to Isak’s corridor. 

It must be a recurring event for Isak too, that he doesn't want to sleep, or he doesn't like his roommate, because he's there again, phone in one hand, other hand in a fist against his knee. 

Even, of course, pushes the door open. Isak looks up, catches Even's eye, and his scowl deepens. 

"Don't," he warns. 

Even slides down the wall next to him anyway, cheerful smile fixed as if he didn't hear Isak. 

"What's up?" He grins, and Isak turns away without replying, looking down the corridor as if searching for someone, though they both know there'll be no one else around. 

Even lets the silence sit for a while, and eventually, Isak huffs. 

"We're still not friends," he says. 

"Yet," Even adds. "But we will be." 

"No we won't." 

"Yeah we will." 

"Nope." 

"Are we turning this into a pantomime? Because I can go for hours. My stamina is impressive.”

Isak’s mouth drops a little, and his eyes narrow. Even knows he’s taking in the subtext, but neither of them acknowledge it out loud. Even simply raises an eyebrow, sly and bold, and Isak’s expression flits through things that Even can’t decipher, though he tries to remain calm, and finally rolls his eyes as if he’s just tired of Even.

"You're fucking weird." 

"Why, thank you." 

“Not a compliment.”

Even just laughs, and lets the silence sit again, watching Isak from the corner of his eye as he goes back to his phone. Every so often his head twitches as though he wants to turn back to Even, maybe start another conversation or try and persuade Even that these attempts at friendship will be fruitless - but he doesn’t ever actually look all the way at Even, or open his mouth long enough to make a sound.

Even takes his sketchbook from the pocket of his jacket, carefully finding a safe page to turn to before he starts to sketch. Not Isak, this time, because he already knows this game is a long one, and he doesn’t want to scare him off yet.

But there’s a plant opposite them in the corridor, next to a table with an old fashioned corded phone - no doubt left from the days before mobiles existed - or technically, Even supposes, it’s meant for students to use instead of their mobiles, because they’re not meant to have them at school - but when has anyone ever listened to those rules.

Still, Even sketches out the plant and the table, mindless, but good practice. And Isak’s eyes stray towards him more, now, wandering to his hands and his pencil and everything that’s coming out onto the page. There’s a subtle, impressed raise of his eyebrows when he looks, and Even doesn’t point it out, but he notices, and he files it away in his mind, because there’s no way he won’t draw it later.

He smiles to himself while he’s drawing, and keeps his eyes fixed to the page when he feels Isak’s eyes move up to his face. His self control lasts all of ten seconds without looking, but it’s burning him not to check where Isak’s eyes are.

He turns his face, and catches Isak’s eye - Even’s mind wasn’t playing tricks. Isak was looking, and he doesn’t look away even when faced with Even’s gaze head on.

Not at first, anyway. He stares, steady and narrow-eyed, as if he’s trying to figure Even out. It lasts longer than Even thought it would before Isak is huffing with frustration, and turning back to his phone with an almost inaudible mutter that sounds a lot like  _ “why are you doing this to me?” _

Even swallows down a surprised laugh at Isak’s words throwing him off balance, but manages to maintain his composure. He leaves a few seconds for everything to shift back to the right place, then continues as if nothing had bothered him in the first place.

“There’s a football game next week, right?”

Isak scowls. “Yeah, why?”

“Just trying to make conversation. You excited?”

Isak shrugs. “I guess. It’s just football, dude.”

“Yeah, but you either win or you get to punch people. Sounds like you always have fun.”

“I don’t punch people just because our team loses.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Didn’t we already establish that all the rumours about me are bullshit?”

“Well, you tried to tell me that you aren’t charming, but that was definitely a lie.” Even’s not even being insincere about that - he’s seen Isak in the cafeteria, and in corridors, with everyone around him, and he shows off that charismatic smile and gets people falling at his feet. 

“Shut up,” Isak mumbles, and Even can’t tell if Isak thinks he’s joking, or if he’s embarrassed about it. Either way, it’s adorable, the slight flush that appears high on his cheeks, the way he averts his gaze from Even.

“I’m serious,” Even continues. “If I was one of those girls that you flirt with, I’d be in love with you too.” 

Isak’s expression sours, and he becomes tense. “I don’t fucking flirt with them.”

“You don’t?” Even could honestly win awards for not letting Isak’s annoyance faze him. “Damn, I’d kill to see you flirt, then.”

Isak exhales and goes quiet. He turns his attention back to his phone, though when Even glances over at it, he’s simply scrolling back and forth through the pages on his home screen. A message appears at the top, and Isak swipes it away before Even can see it properly, but he could swear it’s something from the bible. Isak slams his phone face down onto the floor, and sighs.

“I don’t flirt,” he says, drawing Even back to the conversation. “There’s no one in this fucking school I’d want to flirt with.”

“No one?” Even asks, tilting his head in disbelief.

Isak looks at him, his gaze steady again - but more open, this time. Unreadable still, but he’s not narrowing his eyes or trying to figure Even out. It’s just - steady. The sort of look Even associates with lying.

“No one,” Isak confirms, his voice quiet like it’s on the verge of cracking.

There are cracks all over Isak’s facade, and Even has no idea what to make of them.

But he knows what he wants them to mean.

*

Their conversation the next night starts off with “Why the fuck are you back?”

Even barely acknowledges it, just grins and slides down next to Isak again with a “Nice to see you too, Isak.”

“It’s fucking - horrible to see you, dude, seriously.” 

Even can’t help but laugh at the determination on Isak’s face, at how un-serious the statement sounds, completely the opposite of Isak’s intentions. 

“You’ve gotta work on your insults, Isak,” he says. “There’s more to being a dickhead than just your fists.”

Isak doesn’t reply, just gives the most scathing look Even’s seen from him - and it still isn’t all that effective.

“Nah, you can do better, come on,” Even says. “Say something - imagine, your dad’s here, and he’s like  _ ‘Isak you absolutely must go back to hell on earth aka the school that I own,’”  _ he gets a quiet snort out of Isak for that one. “And you can’t just punch him, right, but you could absolutely devastate him if you used the right words.”

“I could punch him,” Isak says. “Everyone would fucking celebrate if I did.”

“See, but you can use that,” Even says. “Like, just say ‘people would be happy if you got punched’ with a bit more - you know - personal touch. Like ‘if you weren’t fucking rich, no one could bear to be around you.’”

“That’s not that good,” Isak says. “Everyone’s said that to him already.”

“Okay, but - you know him,” Even replies. “What’s he sensitive about?”

“Fucking nothing, he’s a robot.”

“Maybe he’s sensitive about being a robot.”

“Maybe I’ll stick to imagining punching him.”

Even laughs lightly. “Yeah, seems like more your speed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later, babe.”

Isak looks like he wants to scream.

*

The night after, when Isak catches sight of Even coming down the corridor, he sighs dramatically. “Fucking  _ again,  _ dude?”

The next night, it’s just an overexaggerated roll of the eyes when Even once again slumps down next to Isak.

But they do actually have conversations, now. Even leads, and they don’t flow entirely freely, or follow any groundbreaking subjects but - they talk. Isak’s hand curls into a fist more often than not, but it seems to Even like it’s just a nervous habit. He never senses anything close to aggression coming from Isak. There’s frustration, there’s anger, there’s fucking grief - not in his words, but almost as though it’s falling out of every crack in the facade he hides behind. Even’s not close enough to fix it; he’s not even close enough to try.

But he’s close enough to talk. And maybe it helps.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u sm for reading!!! i hope u stick around for whats to come :D  
> tumblr is [here!](http://evenshands.tumblr.com)  
> love always xxx


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